


ice king, ice king, show me your heart

by ClassyGreyDove (justamostlyabandonedficaccount)



Series: how many shrinks to fix a lightbulb? (less than it takes to fix me) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Hopeful Ending, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Yuuri is really only makes a brief appearance at the end sorry folks, emotionally dramatic cause that how it be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justamostlyabandonedficaccount/pseuds/ClassyGreyDove
Summary: Ice is cold, unforgiving, impenetrable. Ice is a mirror. The King of the Ice is the same.(Viktor was cruel, before Yuuri.)
Relationships: slight yuuri/viktor
Series: how many shrinks to fix a lightbulb? (less than it takes to fix me) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038614
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	ice king, ice king, show me your heart

**Author's Note:**

> i finished this in one day after abandoning fanfiction for a year. Ya. I know.

Ice is cold, unforgiving, impenetrable. Ice is a mirror. The King of the Ice embodies his element.

~~Viktor was cruel, before Yuuri.~~

Ice is unfeeling, reflecting, concealing. Viktor, King of the Ice, is too. He has to be, for even the smallest chinks in his armor could lead to his downfall, and he is already too high to survive that.

~~Viktor was closed-off, before Yuuri.~~

Viktor smiles. His eyes cold, distant, shielded. He thinks maybe he wasn’t always this way, that his heart was only consumed by the ice, not made of it.

He knows things were simpler, when he was younger. Then, he still found wonder in the simpler things. The newer things. Things he now takes for granted. Any things, really. He would beam whenever Yakov bought him a pastry he knew wasn’t in his diet or whenever he greeted an adoring fan or even got a new suit or broke the next record.

Viktor can’t be satisfied by any of those, anymore. He’s not sure he can be satisfied by anything, anymore, restless and tired and sloppy. Not that it’s noticeable.

Viktor can remember the day he bought gold-plated skates. His younger self was ambitious. So ambitious. He had to be, to be the best at a competitive sport that only paid well if he won. Gold, he said, gold because gold was the best, and Viktor was going to be the _best._

He tries to find it again, oh how he tries. He skates his heart out, most vulnerable desires on display for all to see. He breaks records, makes jumps. He skates a world-record breaking program once again. He fails.

Skating was all he ever had. What will he do, now that it’s gone? It’s slipping through his fingers, grains of sand that leaves only emptiness behind.

The emptiness cuts. It cuts and stings and Viktor’s tongue cuts and stings too. Too many fans crowd him, beam at him, praise him, and with every one Viktor’s smile pulls and his heart twists. He’s not enough. Skating is not enough. Nothing is enough anymore. Not for the fans, for the judges, for himself.

As the next fan approaches, excited and nervous and seeing anything but Viktor, he feels his smile carve into his face like skates across blank ice.

~~Viktor forgot how to smile, before Yuuri.~~

It was not only his smile that had frozen. Viktor, young and hopeful and new, had been—strikingly—blunt. His words as expressive as his face, Viktor could make even the most confident skater wince with his observations. He critiqued without pause and poked unhesitatingly at sensitive subjects. But it had never been out of malice.

But when gold hung around his neck and reporters screamed his verbal faux pas across sports headlines and fans burst into tears, Viktor learned. Quickly. He was good at that. He barred his feelings behind his gleaming grin and his opinions locked up tightly like medals—Viktor learned, and soon he charmed even the most reticent competitor or reporter with ease.

His persona glittered like a gold medal—and underneath its coating Viktor himself turned into lead: toxic and heavy and bitter. It seeped out sometimes, unwanted, unneeded, and cruel. From Viktor’s mouth spilled fool’s gold and Arsenic, words fake and full of blades. At first, Viktor did his best to swallow it back down, at least until it burned too much to swallow.

~~Viktor’s words felt like poison, before Yuuri.~~

With a smile made of ice and words of pyrite, his heart as cold as gold, Viktor shines so brightly he blinds all who look at him. They can only see what they want to see.

~~But then, there’s Yuuri.~~

The moment the Japanese skater meets Viktor’s eyes, Viktor knows. He knows it in the way his smile melts into something softer. He knows it in the way his words come out like raw diamonds—clumsy and precious and real. He knows it in the way Yuuri looks at him and seems to see his heart, his heart that warms with laughter and freedom and not having to be enough.

Viktor feels his heart pump. He feels sweat drip down the side of his head. He feels his eyes crinkle up with joy and his words ring with laughter as his legs move in an unfamiliar dance he’s never practiced before and is the farthest thing from professional or pretty or perfect—

Viktor is _alive_.


End file.
